


Master and Commander

by Not_I_Sir_Not_I



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Multi, Sexual Fantasy, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2351648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_I_Sir_Not_I/pseuds/Not_I_Sir_Not_I
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lewis and Hobson are together. Hathaway sees them and imagines what it would be like if they took him on board...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Master and Commander

Hathaway tapped on Lewis' door again before taking out his key. He guessed that one of the missing case files he needed was sitting on the coffee table, papers scattered while Lewis kipped on the couch. Lazy Sunday afternoon, Hobson on rota, man's taking a nap, most likely, since he hasn't answered either of his phones and his car's outside. 

He pushed open the door. Not on the couch. And no sign of the files. A Patrick O'Brian novel splayed open—Dr. Hobson wouldn't thank Lewis for breaking the binding of her book. Hathaway closed it. Maybe the bedroom? He could hear faint strains of classical music. Don't hear any snoring, hope he's okay.…

The door to the bedroom was half-open.

The slats from the window blinds striped Dr. Hobson's body—Laura!— in light and shadow as she moved on Lewis’—Robbie!— body. His hands were wide on her middle, holding her upright, and then moving to her breasts. Her eyes were closed, as were his, their faces identical masks of utter concentration, each mouth a round perfect o as if they were about to sigh.

Hathaway stared, transfixed. 

Fuck.

He felt the image sear onto his retinas, his entire body seemed to ignite. He sensed that he was about to burn to a crisp and flutter in ash to the floor. 

They hadn't seen him. He backed quietly away from the door, still wanting to watch, wanting to see, wanting to feel—

He had to get the fuck out of there now. 

He crept out the door of the flat, not daring to lock it. As he gently turned the latch, he heard their climax, the murmurings and soft exclamations and declarations of love and it was all he could do to pull the door closed without making a sound.

His face was on fire. His hands were shaking. He was mortified.

And growing hard. Embarrassingly hard.

He took a deep breath, wondered if he should knock on the door, try and play it off. Who was he kidding? Could he ever face them again? Could he ever look at Laura without thinking of Robbie's hands teasing her—

No, he had to get home. If he could get home, take a cold shower, bathe in ice. 

If he could only make it to where he parked his car. Have to get another job, that's all. No, it's an honest mistake. I should have announced myself:

"I'm coming!" he snickered and then shuddered. Bad joke, terrible joke. I may be hysterical, he thought. Home. 

Fumbled with his car keys, got in and rested his head against the steering wheel, pounding it then, needing to dislodge the betraying thought. Summon up an image, a calming image, anything other than the expression on Robbie's face as he thrust into Laura and the strength of Robbie's arms and hands and—

He started the car and prayed he wouldn't wrap it around a tree on the way home.

+++  
The light had been behind Laura's head, and he thought again of the line of her neck and shoulders and the way Robbie's hands had moved from her waist confidently to her breasts, lightly teasing, as if he'd known her, had known what she liked, for decades rather than months.

Is that what it's like? To be in a relationship like that, James wondered. In his one sort of long term adult relationship, Fiona had never let him linger, never let him figure it out—she was bossy and demanding and while it was good to be told what to do—since, as she reminded him often enough, he was somewhat clueless—he wanted to take the time to discover her body for himself. She wasn't one for wasting time. She would never have let him learn her body the way Robbie knew Laura's.

James could not get the image out of his head: Laura astride Robbie. 

He took a cold shower. The problem kept popping up. He rested his head against the tile of the shower and fought the impulse to bang his head against the wall. Get a concussion at this rate. Maybe that is what it would take to get the image out of his head. And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee. God. He so seldom had thoughts like this: he squirmed watching ITV footage of animals having sex, let alone humans. Let alone people he knew—and that was a completely new and terrifying experience. One he never wanted to repeat. 

Did he?

The soft moan that Robbie had made. 

James stood in the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and decided he'd have to do something about the incessant playback in his mind. It was keeping him from getting things done. He'd planned a run, he needed to get in the shopping.

The soft play of light and shadow on Laura’s back.

He had planned an afternoon of scholarly reflection and an evening of pasta and solitary guitar practice.

The soft agony on Robbie's face.

He had a case that needed a report.

The soft sounds Laura made deep in her throat.

Soft. Dammit, why couldn’t he get soft? What would it take to get rid of this—this impediment?

Fuck.

Right. Well, a glass of wine. It was early afternoon. Why were they having sex so early in the afternoon? Had they been at it all morning?

Oh, that was a thought. What had they been doing all morning? Did Robbie wake up hard? Was Laura’s arm across his belly as she slept and then did she trail her hand to touch him, smiling knowingly—because she knew how he liked being touched there—

Fuck. 

He spilled a little wine on the counter—his hand was shaking in anticipation—and he hurried to the bedroom. The bed was unmade because he'd been planning to do laundry, too, dammit and then this came up—

He almost giggled. It was stupid, really. He never did this. Rather, he rarely did this. If he was lucky, it would be over and done with and forgotten and he could get on with the review copy he had of Shakespeare and Early Modern Religion. Probably shouldn’t be thinking about that at the moment. 

He stroked himself experimentally, feeling wanton and sexy, clean and nude in his dim flat. He nearly groaned. It was going to take awhile. He gulped half of his wine. Maybe a long while. 

He set the glass on the nightstand, opening the drawer hoping—what? That the lube fairy had paid a visit in the intervening years? 

He didn't do this sort of thing, he reminded himself. At least not often enough to suffer the embarrassment of purchasing supplies to make it easier. He and Fiona had never needed lube. Come to think of it, they hadn’t had sex all that often either; at least, they hadn’t had sex as often as he wanted. Had never even made love; not in the confident, affectionate way that he dreamt of and longed for. 

He’d been asked to leave the seminary because he continued to treat the question of celibacy in a ‘deliberately facetious manner.’

He’d been largely celibate ever since.

He poked around in the drawer—no condoms either. Half a pack of stale Marlboros, two lighters, ah, and a tube of heavy-duty hand lotion. Better than nothing. 

Bad boy Hathaway, that’s me.

He settled back against the pillows, imagining Laura—no, that was disrespectful. The way her short hair gleamed in the afternoon sun from the window. She might have been a boy. 

Oh, that was even worse.

No, a young man—that would work. No, wait—she was disguised as a young man. Shakespeare? No—on a ship.

Laura was a cabin boy. A young woman disguised as a young man for the pleasure of Captain Lewis.  
Yes, that would do nicely. Gave a whole new meaning to the words, Master and Commander.

_Lt. Hathaway knocked politely on his Captain's cabin door. Hearing nothing, he entered. All was as it should be, except for Hobson, the cabin boy, sitting on a stool reading the ship's log._

_"What? What is so fascinating in the ship's log?" he asked the young man._

_Hobson turned, smiling slightly. "Rare birds. The differences in their anatomy, the structure of their beaks."_

_Hathaway sat on the edge of the bunk. "Is the Captain aware of your interest?"_

_Hobson gave him a knowing look. "Of course he is. He's aware of everyone. He makes a point of it, you see."_

James—in bed, hand stroking himself—cringed slightly. His Hobson was cardboard. How could they be discussing Darwin when all he wanted to do was toss off? He wondered at his own lack of passion. Shouldn’t he be ripping her clothes off?

_"The Captain is aware of your interest in him," said Hobson, moving closer._

_"He's been working too hard."_

_"As have you," said Hobson, hands moving to his shoulders. "I know something that will relax you."_

_Lt. Hathaway reached for Hobson and began to slowly undo the buttons of the lad's waistcoat. He undid the lacings of the lad's breeches gently, allowing the young man to pull away if he wanted._

_"You've never done this before," said Hobson, absorbed and fascinated in the slow progress and fumbling of Hathaway's fingers._

James—in bed, one hand holding a wine glass, the other otherwise occupied—frowned. He wasn't even competent in his own fucking fantasy! 

_Lt. Hathaway sighed, saying nothing. He slid his hands beneath the lad's shirt, noting the curve of waist and hip and then the apple-like breasts, the nipples that hardened at his touch. Hobson's intake of breath was sharp and expectant, her eyes daring him. Feeling somewhat bolder, he undid the lacings of the shirt so that he could see._

_His eyes widened._

James—in bed, not even close to coming—wondered if the real Hobson liked him ‘that way’ outside of the ‘dishy’ comments she had made over the years. Before Robbie had returned from BVI, Hathaway had had a bit of a crush on Laura. Intelligent, scathingly witty, pretty.

His mind wandered. His fantasy Hobson was looking at him with affection mostly, but not desire.

Although maybe there was desire there—not like he had a lot to compare it with. Didn’t have a lot of experience with desire. Longing, yes. Subtle difference between longing and desire. He longed for much more than he desired.

_"Captain Lewis!"_

_Lt. Hathaway turned, mortified. He was disrobing his Captain's cabin wench! He dropped his hands, blushing guiltily._

_"Aye," Lewis studied Hathaway. "So, Lieutenant, you've discovered my lovely lad’s a wench." Lewis stepped behind Hobson and, cupped her chin and turned it toward him so that he could kiss her._

_No, he plundered her mouth, Lt. Hathaway thought. Lewis' hand slipped beneath her shirt and as she tipped her head back, she met Hathaway's eyes with a look that was part challenge and part revelation, willing him to look, willing him to join them. To touch—his Captain._

James—in bed, wine set aside and now forgotten on the nightstand—was back in business, thinking of Robbie’s eyes, the subtle danger of two men wanting the same woman—wanting each other.

Christ, he thought, I sound like ‘Fifty Shades of Melodrama.’ Or a poorly written essay on the homoeroticism of D.H.Lawrence.

 _Lewis’ hands made Hobson writhe. What is he doing beneath her shirt, Hathaway wondered, absorbed in the way she was breathing and the way she pushed back against Lewis' front. The Captain’s other hand caressed the front of her breeches, teasing. Hobson’s eyes were half-lidded, smoldering._

_Lewis gave a rogue's smile, edge of his tongue in his cheek. He seemed torn, as if he wanted to continue tormenting Hathaway, but then he relented._

_"Let me talk you through it, lad," Lewis dropped his hands to Hobson's waist. "All right with you, Hobson."_

_She smiled, sexy, bright and cheeky. "I want Hathaway. And you. The three of us."_

James—in bed—breathed faster. This was—unexpected, even in fantasy. His fantasies tended to be quick glimpses of writhing bodies undulating to a heavy bass beat in dark club corridors. Or scattering desk implements to the floor in Jeanne Innocent’s office and giving in to her pleas to take her bent over the desk. He had awoken with that dream in his head and sticky sheets—disgraceful at his age. But his three closest friends? Was that wrong? Oh, yeah, so wrong. He concentrated, trying to get back into the flow of the action.

It didn’t sound much like Laura, after all. This Hobson was very near a parrot. The real Hobson would have thrown him bodily across the bed and….

Wait—this wasn’t going according to plan, here. He needed to reign this in. Get it over with. 

He had Things To Do. He determinedly set his hand in motion again.

_"Put your hands on her. Listen to her breathing, lad, she'll tell you what she likes without words."_

James—in bed—mentally slapped himself. Not an instructional manual. God, what was wrong with him that he couldn't even get through a simple--

_Hobson slipped her shirt off and stood before the two men, bare above the waist. She reached for Hathaway's hand and was stayed by Lewis voice._

_"May I show him, pet?"_

_Lewis took Hathaway's hand. "So's you know that I want this, that she wants this, that we," he emphasized the pronoun, "Want you." He put James' hand to Laura's breast. "See? Like that. Just."_

_He watched as Lewis—Robbie, dammit!—teased her with his fingers as he stood behind her. He kissed her neck, his hand moving across her torso. She arched back against him._

_And then she reached for Hathaway, hands either side of his face, drawing him close. He had to bend to kiss her, and as her mouth opened against his he kissed her inexpertly at first and then regained his footing as he remembered how it was to kiss and be kissed._

_He opened himself to her and was almost dismayed when she broke the kiss and gestured to the bed. He'd almost forgotten that Robbie was there behind her—so very close—he was so focused on the kissing, the touching._

James—in bed—added more hand lotion. It wasn’t helping. He ached. He’d probably chafe, too, come down to it. He touched himself in other ways, caressed a nipple—surprising himself with the sensation of arousal. Sad that he was middle aged, and he didn’t even know what he liked in bed.

He loved kissing, being close, holding someone, being held. It had been years, literally, since he had been kissed. He missed it. Dear God, he missed being held and kissed and just spending time wrapped around someone. Missed waking up next to someone. Not that he’d had all that much experience with that either. 

He missed watching ITV sitting on the couch next to Lewis—Robbie! Why couldn’t he get used to calling him Robbie?! Robbie now rode into work with Laura. So James missed staring into Robbie’s fridge and bemoaning the lack of veg. He missed making the man who was no longer his boss a proper cup of coffee instead of that insipid swill he called coffee. He missed those minutes before work when they would stand at the breakfast bar, going over the list of case details, and Lewis would tease him about matching his tie and his socks. And James would reply that at least each of his socks matched the other and couldn’t Lewis tell black from blue any longer?

He missed Lewis. This Captain was a shadow in comparison. 

_"Like that, do you?" said Robbie, eyes half-lidded. "Let's see what else you like, Lt. Hathaway."_

_Hobson tugged him down beside her on the double bunk and she removed most of his uniform with quick fingers as Robbie watched._

_Soon Hathaway was in small clothes only, his body reacting to the unfamiliar press of woman on one side, man—Captain!---on the other. How to choose—he lay between them and let the feeling of warmth and desire pass through him—could he have both?_

_Robbie pressed him flat and he stared at his Captain, taking in the blue, blue eyes and the gentle grin. He smiled slightly in turn and swallowed audibly._

_Robbie grinned a little at that. "Scared?"_

_"Petrified," Hathaway admitted. "I've never—"_

_Robbie swooped in and stole a kiss, briefest touch of lips on Hathaway's own. "And now you have. How does that sit with you, lad?"_

_Hathaway closed his eyes, feeling again that briefest touch of lips against his own. Robbie's lips against his own. Once forbidden and now given freely. "I want more. I want—"_

_"What do you want?"_

_"Everything."_

James—in bed—stilled his hand. He picked up his wine. Can't come yet, just getting to the good part. Which is what—exactly? The part where our loins meet and grind together in heated lust? The part where he swallows my aching member—James burst out laughing—the exclusive club! Hathaway’s Member! He spilled his wine onto his chest. 

I'm rubbish at this, total rubbish. What is it I desire? No, what is it that I long for?

The part where he touches my cheek with his hand? The part where my head rests against his chest and I hear the thrum of his heart? Or the part where we three spend our lives so wrapped up in loving each other that we don’t notice that we’ve grown old? Where our vision has grown dim and so have the lights in the bedroom?

If I can’t have what I long for, then—at least—let me imagine my heart’s desire.

_Captain Lewis kissed him again and took him in hand, stroking once, twice, and then stopping. "I want to see you with Laura." The Captain’s blue eyes were storm-dark._

_Hathaway felt panicked. "I don't know what to do, I don't know her, I don't—"_

_"Listen to you!" Laura said, dryly. "Give over, Hathaway. Robbie, show him I won't bite. At least not hard."_

James—in bed, choked down the last of his wine and set the glass on the nightstand. Now? Hobson is sounding like herself, now? Of all times! No, no, no!

_The Captain lay down. Hobson got out of bed and walked around to be next to him. "I'm not climbing over someone and risking injury," she said. She took Robbie in hand, showing James what Robbie liked. "Easy enough. The hard part," she smirked at her pun, "Is getting him to let me do this," she took him in her mouth, as Hathaway watched._

_I want to do that, he thought. The touch, the texture, having him mine, so completely mine at that moment._

James—in bed, in hand—shuddered, but didn't come. He wanted to feel the affection behind each action. 

He—well, he didn't want Hobson to straddle Robbie, which is what she was now doing in his fantasy. He felt like his scenario was being hijacked until he saw her as he had seen her that afternoon, perched high on Robbie's cock. 

Oh, what a phrase. Robbie’s cock. Sounded friendly. 

Christ, he must be hysterical, he felt like giggling. 

He was too close, but not close enough. 

_The Captain moved beneath Hobson. They moved as one. Captain Lewis shuddered._

_Then Hobson moaned and came, rolling off the Captain with a breathy sigh._

_Lt. Hathaway knelt between her legs and ever so gently put his mouth on her to taste Lewis, taking back his Captain. She wriggled against him; he slid his hands beneath her thighs. The cabin was filled with her moans. Hathaway was exhilarated hearing her enjoyment._

James—in bed, is astonished at what his fantasy self is doing to Hobson and how much he is enjoying it because it is simply— it’s wildly filthy—but is it really? don’t people do this all the time? but how filthy, really, could it be if he is content and she is content and Lewis—my God—Lewis is content? 

Would Robbie—his Robbie—want to see him with Laura? Would he want it to be just the two of us? Am I projecting, James wondered, because I know he won’t give up Laura and if he has us both, then at least I’ll have him on—we’ll mark it on the calendar—Robbie Nights. 

Robbie Nights will blossom, though, because Robbie is generous in all things. He’d give himself to Laura, and Laura and James would take each other, and then the two of them would go back to Robbie. And then the three of them…

_And then Captain Lewis claimed him, touching his aching cock as he continued to give pleasure to Hobson. Lt. Hathaway whimpered, and reddened, ashamed that he couldn’t manage a more throaty arousal. He felt the barest touch of the Captain’s mouth on him. He raised his head and stared up at Laura from this new vantage point. Would she mind if he mapped her body? Discovered her mounds, valleys, and peaks?_

_The tableau stilled. Looks and silent permissions were exchanged._

_How could Robbie take care of them both?_

_He was the Captain. He could do anything._

It was a fantasy. The three of them could do anything.

James—in bed, almost sore, aching—willed Laura to disappear. But she wouldn't. 

Of course not.

The Captain needed them both—three points to make a triangle, an equilateral triangle spinning at a center point forms a perfect circle.

It was perfect.

_"She wants you, lad." Captain Lewis had a devilish glint in his eye. “I want to see her with you. Might be as I learn something new. Always open to new things.” Lewis kissed Hathaway, a promise of more._

_Lt. Hathaway left his comfortable spot between Laura’s legs. He trailed his long hands against her thigh and hip, moving his hand across her belly to her ribs, firming his touch so she wouldn’t giggle. He nuzzled at her breasts as if he was an infant and, before moving to her mouth, left his mark above her suprasternal notch._

James—in bed—forced himself to forget the words ‘suprasternal notch’ as they had no place in an erotic fantasy.

Maybe he didn’t have a place in an erotic fantasy. He sighed, suddenly insecure and sad and lonely. Pathetic. ‘What did you do on Sunday?’ ‘Spent the afternoon trying on masturbatory fantasies without success. And you?’ 

_Then Hobson arched into him, and he was moving inside her. Her eyes sparkled and she smiled crookedly, reassuring him that he was taking himself too damn seriously. She moved against him, matching his heat. Captain Lewis placed his hand on Hathaway’s back as if urging him on. Hathaway thought of fire and damnation then and he didn’t care._

_He pulled Hobson’s hips toward him, instinctively, and then raised up on his arms so that The Captain could kiss her, sucking at her breasts, her neck, fondling and teasing her till she was flush and writhing._

_As he felt the flutter of Hobson’s orgasm, Lt. Hathaway shared a triumphant look with Captain Lewis, just for an instant._

_It felt deliciously wicked to make love to two people at once. His face was hot. Hellfire. But it was right, too, complete, perfect. A circle of hands and mouths all touching at once, no one left out._

James—on the bed, covers kicked onto the floor, both hands busy now—suddenly realized that he had felt left out of Lewis and Hobson’s lovemaking. It wasn’t justified, of course not. He was the stalwart friend, the buddy, the former sergeant.

Except neither of his friends thought of him that way. Logically, he knew that. What would have happened if I had asked, he wondered, had approached, had shed my clothes and joined them in bed? 

Would they have welcomed me? Would they have jumped apart, indignant at the interruption? Would they have greeted me with kisses and hands on cheeks and heads on chests and would we grow old together, all of us? 

Wouldn’t that have been glorious, the warm smiles on their faces as if to say, ‘We missed you, we’re glad you’re here with us now. And after, we’ll have a cuddle and brush our teeth and in the morning we’ll have a fryup with good English sausage, none of that chorizo that you bought—what were you thinking!’

In his fantasy, Captain Lewis had been looking at Lt. Hathaway when he came.

James—in bed, hand working furiously—gave himself over to satisfaction, working faster. Not quite there, not quite.

_"Captain's turn," said Hobson, languorously, hand grazing his nipple._

_Lt. Hathaway pulled away from her, still hard, aching, and then Robbie's mouth was on his, hot, demanding. Robbie’s hands caressed and pulled, and then Hathaway’s cock was in Robbie's mouth and the thought of Robbie even breathing on him there—so close—the sensation was too much._

James—in bed—jerked and moved the mattress hard enough that the nightstand rattled and sent the wine glass onto the floor. He came hard and intensely, ejaculate shooting high onto his chest; head thrown back, legs spread and body rigid. He moaned aloud, his voice a throaty growl in the bedroom on a lazy Sunday afternoon: "Oh, Captain, my Captain!"

The two pairs of eyes that watched him from the doorway went wide, their owners stunned.

Robbie tugged on Laura's arm as they hurriedly crept out, carrying the case file they'd brought in response to the text message they'd received earlier.

Robbie quietly shut the door to Hathaway’s flat and stared at Laura. "We didn't see that. It would kill him if he knew we saw that."

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around what he said."

Lewis nodded. "Let's get you home.” 

I need to get home, he thought, getting into the car. I want to think about what I saw. Long and hard.

He gave a nervous chuckle.

Laura smirked at him. “I know what you’re thinking.” She settled back against the seat and stared out the window. A minute later she straightened.“Turn around, Robbie! Hurry!”

“What?!” He pulled the car to the side of the road.

“The book. Hathaway was in your flat—he closed my book!” She laid her hand on his arm. “’Oh, Captain, my Captain’? He’s bloody well not thinking of Abe Lincoln, he’s thinking of you!”

He stared at her. Then suddenly he was turning the car around. “God, Laura—you know—what if he doesn’t—what if we’re wrong?“

She grinned. “Every ship has a Captain, a first lieutenant, and a cabin boy.”

“So you’re the—“

“Well, I suppose I could be the Captain, but since you’re not taking my orders to hurry, I guess I’ll settle for first lieutenant. Captain, my Captain, we’ve got a 'ship to launch.”


End file.
